


Come Pick Me Up (I Wish You Would)

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Sensationalism [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, Het and Slash, M/M, Scents & Smells, Senses, Slash, Souled Vampire(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindsey's so close that Angel can smell his soul. Or something like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Pick Me Up (I Wish You Would)

The thing that has always been better about being a vampire is the way the senses are sharpened, honed to an edge that can hear the whine of a faulty fanbelt, taste the mix of flavors in human blood and identify the sweetness of fear over the coppery-iron base, see the flutter of a woman’s heart when she’s laid out naked before you…but for Angel, the sense that still surprises him is smell.

Knocking on the door to the dingy apartment, he can smell four separate dinners being consumed: someone is eating an oily pepperoni-and-cheese pizza, two doors over there’s Thai takeouts, the third place is heating up a TV dinner, and the fourth apartment is in the middle of making Cornish game hen, roasted in butter, garlic, rosemary, and thyme with a little dash of white wine. Also baked potatoes and probably a salad.

All of these smells are instantly overwhelmed with the stench of sex when Lindsey opens the door and smiles at him. He’s clearly been working out, and the tattoos lend a distinctive look.

“Hey, man,” Lindsey says, smirking. “You’re a week late. Come on in.”

Eve’s dried sweat hangs on his skin like cheap cologne, but he’s jacked off more recently than he’s fucked her. Angel walks in, noting the runes. A primitive privacy system is what Wes called them, but there’s nothing private about the smell of the place. There are two glasses of wine, a hint of light floral and linen perfume that belongs to Eve, a heavy leather smell that suggests Lindsey and Eve have broken a few belts, and then there is the very smell of Lindsey himself, one Angel had almost forgotten.

“Who is she, anyway? What is she?” Angel asks, sitting down on the couch and breathing in despite the uselessness of the gesture to get a feel for what’s going on between Lindsey and this mundanely strange shell of a girl calling herself Eve.

Lindsey, looking pretty comfortable in his jeans and bare feet, sits down next to Angel and shrugs. “I’ve got my suspicions,” he says with a significant look. “Suspect you do, too. That’s not why you’re here.”

“Little bit of the reason,” Angel corrects him, smelling that first shift into arousal on himself. He’d forgotten how Lindsey looks like sex, and how his eyes beg Angel to fuck him at the first opportunity. “What’s she after? For that reason, what the hell are you doing here playing games with Wolfram and Hart? I thought you said…”

The first salt smell of fearful sweat always made the predator inside Angel perk up and run a bit, send a little more blood down to the cock, and there’s a bead on Lindsey’s forehead. Angel wants to lick it, but restrains himself.

(all in good time.)

“I could give a shit about Wolfram and Hart,” Lindsey says, biting on his lip, playing games with the big bad wolf, as it were. “I’m here because I was wondering how fast I could fuck you up without even trying. And I’m wondering how long it took you to fuck Spike once he got himself hard again.”

Angel enjoys the smell of pain; he feels ashamed about it from time to time, but there’s a complicated blood-lactic acid-sweat-stale breath bouquet when he punches a guy in the gut the way he does Lindsey right now. It’s enough to get him half-erect and let Lindsey know that if anyone’s getting fucked tonight, it’s not Spike and it’s not Eve. Not when there’s a far prettier mouth and a far nicer odor to be had. Vampires always smell like death, and they’re always cold and a little ashy. If he were a human, he’d never fuck one, but fortunately for him, he’s not human and there are plenty of nice warm bodies ready, willing, and able to fuck themselves on his cock.

“Spike’s not worth the blood it takes to get it up,” Angel hisses, dragging one hand over Lindsey’s warm skin. “If you’re not, I might have to take a taste or two for the wasted effort.”

Just like that, Lindsey’s as hard as Angel is, and has the smell and texture of mercury as he slams his mouth into Angel’s, groaning with want.

“Came back to prove there’s no such thing as wasted effort,” Lindsey growls, his hand rubbing against Angel’s cock as Angel’s hand tangles in his hair, pulling hard. “You’ll see.”

The monster chuckles and lets the sensations take him up as close to the surface as he can get, reveling in the filthy stench of it all.

Angel likes the smell of hot blood and hotter come mingling together. Always has. And he’ll do anything…even let himself get a little Angelus-y…to have that experience when he can.

 


End file.
